Transfer
by AK Lily
Summary: The boys investigate a series of unexplained deaths, giving Sam the chance to return to his natural habitat.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor anything vaguely related to it. They're Kripke's characters, they just follow me around.**

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The Winchester brothers have spent the majority of their lives in cheap motels, greasy spoons, and the darkest back roads America has to offer. Throughout these twenty-plus years, Dean has come to feel at home in such places, blending in wherever they happened to stop as though he were just another local. Waitresses never gave him a second glance (unless that was his goal) and store owners never watched him a little more carefully to make sure the out-of-towner didn't steal anything. And although the brothers avoided any and all law-enforcement like the plague unless interaction was absolutely necessary, local officers usually gave Dean a short nod in passing, if they didn't ignore him entirely. Sam knew it had something to do with the infamous "Dean charm," that air of confidence that has gotten them out of—and into—more messes than Sam would like to remember. Dad had been the same way, able to fit in anywhere and talk his way out of any situation, no matter how screwed to hell they probably were at the time.

But Sam? Sam was the one who usually got the second glances from waitresses that just shouted _What're you doing around here, kid?_ Sam was the one who got watched when he ran into quik-marts to pay for gas or pick up some food. Sam was the one who got stopped by the cops for a license and registration check when Dean made him do the footwork on a job. Sam may as well have worn a sign saying, _I'm up to no good! Ask me why!_

Sure, he had the "puppy dog eyes," as Dean had labeled them, but that particular skill only came in handy when they had to get information out of a distressed witness or grieving relative, not when they needed to persuade a security guard to leave his post or convince a doctor to hand over sealed medical records. No, for those situations, it was all about Dean taking the lead with his fake badges, cheap suit and "You'd better not question my authority" smirk while Sam nodded intently beside him, taking cues like the good little actor he'd become.

Sam figured it was hereditary. Dean took after Dad with his endless supply of confidence and "Screw you" attitude, and Sam was probably more like Mom than he'd ever know, because he was pretty sure Dean wasn't going to feel like caring and sharing any time soon. It wasn't that Sam hadn't tried finding out more about what Mom was like, it was just that, whenever he did ask, Dean would usually give him a look and make a subject change before the conversation even got off the ground.

Essentially, Sam was the black sheep in a family of black sheep.

And it was precisely that reason that he loved working these kinds of jobs.

A local college had a string of unexplained illnesses and deaths linked to one of the dorm rooms. The thing was that the room had a bloody history—guy slit his wrists after finding his long-time girlfriend cheating on him in his room with another guy. First it went that any girl who stayed there would get sick after moving in and end up on life-support before a month was up. The last victim was a guy in ICU, breaking the all-girl pattern. They'd heard about it in passing and it sounded right up their alley.

It had taken a little convincing, but Dean had eventually agreed that the best way to work this one was from the inside, which meant that they had become transfer students to Lake Hills College. This also meant that Sam would be in his element for once and Dean would be relying on him to get by unnoticed.

Sam couldn't help but grin for the thousandth time as the brothers carried their duffels up the front steps of the infamous Benet Hall, the dormitory they'd been assigned to for the next semester.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor anything related to it. They're Kripke's characters, they just follow me around.**

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There was no way in hell Dean Winchester was a Fine Arts major.

He drove an awesome car. He hunted evil. The cops couldn't touch him. He was badass personified.

It just wasn't freaking possible.

Yet, there it was in black in white at the top of the print out the counselor had given him when they'd finalized their enrollment. Right below the God-awful alias Sam had picked out for him: Dean Morrisey ("Really, Sam? What the hell?" He had shouted. "Hey, you wanted me to take care of registration. It was the first thing that came to mind," his brother had smirked, and damn if Dean didn't want to clock him right there in the quad or whatever the hell they called it. Freaking college people had weird names for everything.)

Sam, on the other hand—or should he say Sam_ Hetfield_, the son of a bitch—had enrolled himself as a Political Science major. A respectable field of study that people actually took seriously and didn't get a look on their face like they were wondering if you were gay or not when you told them about it.

Payback was going to be a bitch, that much Dean knew.

But for the meantime he had to grin and bear it as the transfer counselor—whose name he'd already forgotten and who also looked like she was fresh out of college herself—scrambled around her mess of an office looking for that paper she "had just a minute ago" with their class schedules on it.

Dean had to admit, she wasn't all that bad to look at. Take away the glasses and let her hair down and he thought he recognized her from somewhere. _Girls Gone Wild: Best of Spring Break_, maybe? His suspicions were confirmed when she knocked over a folder and bent down to pick it up. He was pretty sure that skirt wasn't long enough to be considered "professional."

Apparently, he'd been staring because the next thing he knew, Sam was kicking him in the shin. Hard. Dean hissed, cocked his head at his brother, expression the equivalent of _What the hell, Sam!_ They went back and forth silently until the counselor turned back around. They both flashed her a smile, sitting back in their chairs.

"Okay," she chirped, oblivious. "Here are your schedules—they've got your student ID numbers there at the top, next to your names. You'll need that to log into the school's computer system." She then dug around on her desk for a moment before freeing a white envelope from beneath a stack of what looked like applications. "And here…" she said as she pulled two blue and white plastic cards from the envelope, "are your student ID cards. They're only temporary, so you'll need to go to Campus Security to have your picture taken for your permanent ones." Sam and Dean each took their respective card when she offered them. It was all Dean could do to keep from returning Sam's kick when he saw that name again.

The counselor took a seat behind her desk and folded her hands in her lap, smiling at them. "Do you guys have any questions or are you all set?"

Sam returned the smile. "I think we're all set." He and Dean stood in unison and after a quick "Thanks" and a nod, began to make their way out.

Just as Dean was about to reach for the doorknob, the counselor stopped them. "Before you leave, would you mind if I asked a question?"

The brothers shared a glance and turned to face her.

"Sure," Sam said. "Go ahead."

"Actually," she leaned forward, resting her forearms on her desk, "It's mostly for Dean."

Eyebrows raised, Dean buried his hands in his jacket pockets, shamelessly turning on the charm. "Shoot." If this was going where he thought it was, maybe they'd be able to stay in town a few more days, after all.

"What did you say your major was?"

What? "I, uh," Dean began. "Fine Arts." He couldn't get the words out fast enough. He felt like he needed wash his mouth out with soap.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?" Through that practiced smile, Dean could see the beginning of a smirk. "You didn't strike me as the type." Oh, God, here it comes.

"The type?"

"Yeah, you know," the counselor nodded and smiled, as if that was supposed to explain everything.

"No, not really." Fed up, Dean started moving for the office door again. "Yeah, well, thanks for—"

"So are you two, like…" She waved a hand in the air. "You know…together?"

"No!" Sam and Dean spat in unison. The advisor jumped, startled.

While Dean still donned a disgusted look, Sam explained, "We're brothers. Well, half brothers."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" She sits up straight in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ears as she attempted to recover some of her previous professional tone. She met their gazes and flashed them a rehearsed smile. "Let me know if you have any questions."

Sam thanked her for the both of them as Dean stalked out of the office.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean said as he and Sam passed the front desk for the Admissions department, complete with scowling secretary at Dean's sudden outburst.

Sam smiled apologetically and elbowed his brother in the side when they'd passed. Dean simply returned the jab and headed for the exit. The way he saw it, if Sam was so gung-ho about working this job, then he could take care of the PR.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Supernatural or anything remotely related to it. They're Kripke's characters, they just follow me around.**

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Sam knew his brother was going to be pissed when the counselor read him his new name. He figured it was only natural, given the alias. Actually, Dean had handled it a little better than he'd anticipated—he'd only threatened Sam with bodily harm about three times, though he did rant for a solid five minutes.

Okay, so it wasn't much better than he'd anticipated.

As they left the admissions building, Sam was also aware that Dean was silently—and not-so-silently—plotting his revenge. Plus openly griping and moaning all the way to the edge of the parking lot and the Impala.

"Seriously, dude. What the hell?" Dean said as he opened the driver's side back door. He reached in and grabbed his duffel and sleeping bag. "Freaking Morrissey…" he grumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "It's just a name. You'll never have to answer to it again after we leave town."

Dean straightened and slung his duffel over his shoulder. "But I _will _have to answer to it the whole time we're here, which means that anyone with decent taste in music is gonna think I'm related to the guy."

"You really think anyone here is even going to know who Morrissey _is_?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Dean said. When Sam couldn't stop himself from smirking at his brother's anguish, Dean tossed his sleeping bag onto the top of the car and shut the door. "You know what? Watch." Looking around, he stopped the first person to walk by, a guy in a black coat who looked like his hair lost a fight with a blender.

"Hey, man, you've heard of Morrissey, right?" Dean asked him.

In response, the guy shifted the weight of his backpack, raised an eyebrow and mumbled, "No…" before he took off again.

Dean waved him off. "Right," he called, "Thanks for your help." The guy looked back over his shoulder once before dipping his head again and picking up speed down the sidewalk.

Dean turned and scowled at Sam. "Shut up." He snatched his sleeping bag off the top of the Impala.

Grinning, Sam raised both hands defensively. "I didn't say a word."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean rounded the back of the car. He dropped his sleeping bag to the ground carelessly and opened the trunk with the same respect he always showed the Impala. Sam was going to comment on his unhealthy attachment to the car, but he was pretty sure that would've resulted in his brother carrying out some of his threats ahead of schedule.

Dean opened the trunk's false bottom and stood there a moment, surveying its contents. Apparently having made up his mind, he began to select various items and pack them into his duffel.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam asked incredulously. Dean was in the process of placing a rather large knife into his bag.

Dean shrugged, giving Sam a look. "We might need it." He resumed packing the blade until Sam rushed over, plucking it from his hands.

Dean set his jaw and held out his hand. "Sam, give me the knife."

"Dean, we're staying in a dorm on a college campus." Sam held up the blade in its sheath. "If we get caught with this, you don't think it'll raise some questions?"

"No, I don't," Dean said simply, shooting his brother a defiant look. "It's just a knife. I bet a lot of the people here have pocket knives."

Sam scoffed and tapped the knife on his other palm. "I don't think the RA will mistake this for a pocket knife."

Dean furrowed his brow. "Woah, woah, woah," he said, holding up a hand. ""RA'? The hell is that?"

"Resident Assistant," Sam explained, "They're students who work for the school. Usually, there's at least one on every floor in the dorms. They're mainly there to make sure the other students don't get into trouble. Large knives usually qualify as trouble."

Dean grabbed the blade and stuffed it into his duffle. "Stop wavin' it around and it doesn't have to qualify as anything." Dean reached up and shut the trunk's lid. As he did, his duffel swung on his shoulder, its contents rattling.

Sam crossed him arms. "What else do you have in there?"

Dean stooped to pick up his sleeping bag and placed it on the top of the trunk. "In where?"

"Your duffel."

"They're called clothes, Sammy. Unless flannel equals trouble around here, I think I'm good."

"Dean."

"What?"

"Where's your sawed-off?"

"That's none of your business."

"Dude, you're not bringing it into the dorm!"

Dean took a step towards Sam and began in a harsh whisper, "Look, Sam, we don't know what we're dealing with here. It could be some freak coincidence, but you know damn well smart money's on something's taking these kids out. Now, I know you're all excited about being back in your natural habitat, but until we figure out what this thing is, we're going to treat this like any other job. Which means we've gotta be prepared for anything."

Sam sighed. He could always count on Dean for random bouts of rationality. "Yeah. You're right."

"Thank you." Dean plucked his sleeping bag from the top of the car. "Now, come on. I wanna see where we're going to be living and then get some food. I'm starving."

"We're in Birk Hall," Sam said, opening the Impala's back door and retrieving his own duffel and sleeping bag, as well as two pillows—one for him and one for his brother. He made a mental note to pick up some actual blankets the next time he was able to get to a store. It was then that he realized just how bare their rooms were going to be. All they had was what they were able to fit in their duffels. Maybe he'd get Dean to come with him to the Target they'd passed on the way in to town for a lamp or some chairs or something. They had to blend in and empty rooms were sure to be noticed.

"And that would be…where?" Dean asked.

"Two buildings in, on the left," Sam said.

Dean started off in the general direction, nodding. "Exactly. Good to see you're paying attention. Gotta stay sharp."

Sam rolled his eyes once more, shut the car door and jogged a few steps to catch up with his brother.


End file.
